


Warmth

by Databuffer



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: All the gay is in chapter 2, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Armor Kink, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Daubeny is a coward, Essentially Daubeny was Cross' second at one point, Fear of Death, Hand Jobs, I started this in September kill me, M/M, Not as much as in canon but....., One Sided Attraction, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, So Cross might be a little OOC, This was at first just a random Warden and Lawbringer but somehow it became this, War, also I'm bad at naming stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Databuffer/pseuds/Databuffer
Summary: "Through one of the small slits the helmet’s visor he noticed his commander’s expression - usually he was too far away to see, between height difference and respectable distance. However now that Daubeny stood a bit above him, and nearly flush against him, he could see fine. Stern expression. Eyebrows tightly knit. Brown eyes alight with a focused fury. It was odd how he only made such observations were only made when his life was threatened."While marching to Valkenheim's border to put invading Vikings back in check, Holden Cross and his second in command Hervis Daubeny find themselves ambushed. A sustained injury leads to an intimate moment that neither are likely to forget any time soon.





	1. Chapter 1

Valkenheim in Winter was cold. Ashfeld never got cold- it was 25 years before Daubeny had seen a snowflake for the first time. Between the way the Earth broke apart to reveal molten pits, and Mount Ignis spewed its noxious, sweltering fumes, it simply couldn’t. The closest they got were chilly winds from the north in the Winter, and the occasional ash storm that shared a remarkable resemblance to snow, but none of the notable properties. He was shivering in his armor, and giving into his bitterness to an affect. He couldn’t understand how the Warborn could endure such frigid weather for so long… especially with how little they tended to wear… Frostbite seemed like it would be inevitable for them, but instead, they thrived… Was that jealousy he felt?

Daubeny debated announcing his complaints to the Lawbringer beside him - his commander, Holden Cross - for some hope of conversation. It was spawned from an unfamiliar, childish need for attention and validation. The two had been walking for hours, trudging through the snow. On a mission to reach a Viking stronghold, and burn it to the ground. They were… to test these Vikings. Apollyon suspected they were packing more heat than was let on. These two hours were more than enough time for all talk - strategy or otherwise - to come to a concise close. More importantly: long enough for the frigid weather to seep into his bones, and provide a certainly unwelcome numbness to his extremities. He wasn’t sure if it was him adapting to the cold, or his limbs starting to freeze.

He wondered how warm his commander would be… there was plate armor, but he doubted it was against bare skin. There were probably layers of clothing underneath. A tabard, over a chainmail shirt, over a thin cotton tunic, he assumed. Warmer than the mere tabard and tunic Daubeny wore. He regretted it. Ashfeld never grew cold enough to consider properly preparing - or even to consider owning more than just a tabard. He should have known. It was his own foolishness that got him into this mess.

“Have something on your mind?” The voice from beside him broke the Warden from his thoughts. Deep, raspy with overuse, but overall; welcome.  
He hadn’t quite realized his gaze had been locked onto his commander for the better part of three minutes. An accident really, but enough to be noticeable. He recognized that he had finally been given excuse to talk, even if an odd, mildly embarrassing one. He steadied his helmet. Staring straight ahead, and letting out a heavy breath that fogged the interior of his mask, only to escape as a white cloud.

“Not really. Just wondering how warm that armor of yours is. I’m utterly frozen!” The Warden let out a hollow laugh to punctuate the statement, though really it came out quite pitiful, like a beg for attention. The Warden cursed under his breath, averting his gaze.

“Ice cold.” Came the short answer. “My armor doesn’t get warm. Just stays cold. Sweat doesn’t help either, when all it does is freeze.” Cross’ helmet remained locked forwards while the Warden’s ventured back to the heavily armored man beside him. The answer was unexpected, though made sense. 

The Warden paused for the briefest of moments. Mouth open behind his helmet, ready to speak, but he found his tongue caught by anxiety induced hesitation. The internal prompt to think about what he was about to say before he let it simply tumble out of his mouth. He continued. “Perhaps we could share a tent, once we get the fire going, and the troops situated.” Daubeny sighed inwardly. Nothing weird, he internally assured himself. The additional body heat wouldn’t exactly make the tent toasty warm, but it would make it less of an icebox. That was all. Daubeny continued, more out of a desire to explain himself, rather than to persuade. “The extra warmth would be welcome, after a trek like this.” Slowly the Lawbringer’s helmet turned to his own. Cross sought fit stare at him for what felt like an eternity. Quietly observing. Quietly judging. The Lawbringer canted his head slightly and it changed to be less judgmental, more… appraising… A slow up and down look. Inspecting the Warden’s armor, most likely. Had it not been up to his pride, he would have shrunk under that gaze, and turn away. It was similar to how the Lawbringer inspected his enemies. He knew from experience - along with what tended to happen afterwards…

“Understandable. Just don’t expect me to cuddle.” Daubeny legitimately couldn’t pick out if it was a genuine request, or joke. The ever-present monotone his ally spoke in offered no insight. 

“Of course not. If I wanted to, I would have asked our dear Conqueror. I just know you’ll be too stubborn to admit you’re freezing your arse off.” The Warden spoke, forcing a joke, though the grin under his helmet was genuine. Pride welled up when the statement earned a reserved chuckle - one that was brutally cut short by the man’s head snapping to the right in alarm, suddenly on edge. The change was quick. The poleaxe that usually found itself rested atop his tall, proud shoulders now found itself lowered, with the flat of the axe head pressed against the Warden’s torso to halt him, while his free hand was raise in a gesture to hold. The Warden went rigidly still. Fear beginning to boil up in the face of an unseen threat.

Whatever had set the man on edge clearly eluded him, but he trusted the Lawbringer knew better than to merely get set off by the wind. Daubeny glanced to the troops behind them, and quickly raised a fist, and in moments, all marching came to a halt. Only the sound of the leaves occasionally rustling broke the silence. 

The Lawbringer’s helmet feverishly snapped to, and fro. Scanning the dense forest looking for something or someone, most likely. It was about two minutes before the Warden spoke up. His voice a low of a whisper he could manage.

“Did you see something...?” No response, but Daubeny remained patient, scanning the trees as well, despite hardly knowing what it was they were looking for. Either an elk, or a massive Raider, he assumed. Both easy to spot… He heard troops behind him muttering amongst themselves in confusion. The Warden’s hand punched up into the air once more, ordering silence once more - though he undeniably shared their confusion.

The Lawbringer shook his head, and swung his poleaxe up to be grasped with both hands. Holding it defensively, he took a single step. Off the trail they had been walking, and proceeded further into the trees, merely with a gesture to follow. Daubeny obeyed. Giving one more signal to the group before doing so: simple: guard this position.

 

\------------------

The two silently walked through the woods, long enough that their army was no longer visible past the trees. They found footprints quickly. Hastily covered, and hard to notice from a distance. A Warden was no tracker, but he could easily identify it as fresh. The trail led further into the woods. Daubeny wanted to scream out that this felt like a trap, but he couldn’t tell for who. Was it an attempt to cut a head off the Blackstone Legion? Was it an attempt to lure their commander away so the army could be disposed of easily? He found himself preferring the former. He trusted his commander - and moreover, trusted the two of them could take on a hunting party. After all; they had taken out entire fortresses on their own. They were hardly the only skilled warriors there, however they were the most skilled strategists… The army might not die if the pair were dispatched, but it was unlikely they could continue onwards and penetrate the fortress to which they were headed. He shuddered. Half from anxiety, half from cold.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A dark shape poking out from behind the trunk of a tree. Highlighted by the pristine white snow. It was almost completely obscured by his helmet, aided by the snow the wind kicked up to create an odd mist. He squinted at it, as if it would offer insight, and tilted his head back a bit. With the change in perspective through the narrow slit of his helmet he recognized the shape. Instinct kicked in. A hand shot to Cross, instinctively shoving him down, only to be met with an immovable object, and a grunt of confusion. 

“Get down!” 

The Warden didn’t wait. With a quick kick to the inside of the knee, the Lawbringer dropped a solid two feet - clearly not expecting it, as he fell into Daubeny. An arrow whizzed over where his neck had previously been, and his commander’s helm snapped to his target, easily tracking the trajectory of the projectile. Through one of the small slits the helmet’s visor he noticed his commander’s expression - usually he was too far away to see, between height difference and respectable distance. However now that Daubeny stood a bit above him, and nearly flush against him, he could see fine. Stern expression. Eyebrows tightly knit. Brown eyes alight with a focused fury. It was odd how he only made such observations were only made when his life was threatened. 

Focus!

Another arrow was let loose from somewhere else in the woods. Finding itself embedded in the leather tasset at his hip. The force unsteadied him, but was ultimately superficial. The massive hand at the Warden’s shoulder kept him from hitting the dirt. Internally he made a note to both apologize, and thank the man after this was over.  
“Archers!” The Warden pulled Cross up with a tug from under the arm. 

“I hadn’t noticed.” The Lawbringer’s armor took an arrow to the pauldron. One that merely bounced off, and forced the man to simply grunt. He growled lowly and pulled away from his second in command, though his hand remained on the Warden’s shoulder. He drew his sword, falling into a defensive stance while the Lawbringer’s axe remained vertical in the dirt, like an oversized walking stick.

The Warden scanned the tree line. “Five of them sir!” a pause. “No, there’s nine! Your orders?” Another arrow whizzed by. Making a loud ‘thunk’, as it buried into a nearby tree trunk. His eyes darted amongst each archer, attempting to anticipate where the next would come from. He spotted a new silhouette. Broader, with a far looser stance. Two axes held at his thighs. “Nine archers, and a Berserker.”

Holden Cross abruptly broke into a sprint without a word. The hand on the Warden’s shoulder used to guide him through the forest. After an initial stumble from the sudden jolt, Daubeny kept pace. The sudden exertion made his helmet unbearable to wear. Not enough air flow, and his hot breath doing nothing to make the air breathable. Panic shot through him, and a hand darted to his mask, lifting up the visor enough to vent it before slamming it back down, he relished in breathing cold, crisp air for a second, however the moment in which he was blinded was enough for the scene to change entirely. Daubeny realized he didn’t remember where they had come from, with the way the pair had weaved through the forest in their attempts to avoid fire. He had lost sight of six of the nine archers, and the Berserker seemed gone entirely. The Warden cursed out loud.  
In the back of his mind a cold resignation washed over him. He was probably going to die tonight… 

“Play dead.” The quiet statement broke Daubeny from his morbid thoughts, and left him shocked. It was a tactic most knights would never deploy. Honor and glory precede cowardice and deceit.

“What?!”

Before an explanation came, an arrow hit Cross in the back. It bounced off feebly, arrowhead splintered upon impact, but he stumbled forwards like it was fatal. The massive armored man collided with the Daubeny. Easily taking the smaller knight down with him. Terror shot through him. He understood the plan to an extent, but seeing his commander collapse against him as if lethally injured was hardly something that one could ignore. 

Daubeny went slack, and hit the Earth, only to let out a very genuine cry of pain as the undeniably heavy man fell upon him. The Lawbringer was immobile. The Warden was trapped, utterly crushed under sharp, unyielding metal. He could scarcely breath, and began wheezing. Fear lingered at the corner of his mind that perhaps his commander was dead… the stillness of it all was alarming, as well as the lack of reaction to his second in command’s pain, but he chose to trust. He refused to believe his commander would go down that easily. He attempted to look up into the visor of the man above him for some reassurance - they were perfectly lined up- with the man’s helmet covering his his own, there was little else to look at, but the shadows cast by the helm destroyed all such relief. He couldn’t help but claw at the man’s shoulders’ attempting to push him up enough to get a full breath, and perhaps to relieve some of this pain, but it was like pushing against a cobblestone wall. A gauntlet twitched against his chest. A heavy metal fingertip lifting just enough to make a noise when it fell. Subtle proof he was alive. The Warden understood it as the order it was, and forced himself to calm down.

He hadn’t realized he had been hyperventilating, and quickly stopped himself. Forcing his breath to shallow inhales that wouldn’t get him caught, despite the way it failed to satisfy his aching chest. As he slowed, he noticed his commander’s own metered breathing, and suddenly felt quite stupid for his panic.

He wanted to curse how good of an actor his commander was.

Daubeny followed the plan, and went completely still under his commander after having struggled for show for about half a minute longer. No more arrows flew. Everything was still. The two remained in the snow, a thin dusting forming atop them- truly, it took all of his willpower to remain so deathly still, but in the end, it must have been convincing as the Warborn soon approached. They spoke jovially. Truly they expected no trap. They bantered in their own language. It was lost on Daubeny, so instead he began tracking the voices. Attempting to place where they were with sound, as attempts at peeking out from around the metal mass that obscured his sight was utterly futile.

The group sounded small. He picked out five individual voices. All from the same direction, and steadily growing closer. Suddenly his sword was pulled from his hand, a voice by his ear chuckling lowly, as he heard the blade cut through the air once or twice. ‘Make that six individual voices’, he noted bitterly.

Closer still they grew. Chattering excitedly, and occasionally letting out a loud ‘whoop’ for one reason or another, all excited about having taken down two high ranking members of the Blackstone Legion, no doubt. The one above them spoke, language shifting to Latin – he was impressed a Warborn knew any, let alone so fluently. He would have feared the implications, but currently he had hit his terror quota for today. “You don’t mind if I take your head as a trophy, do you?” The joking voice was from mere inches from his head, and suddenly there was an axe at Daubney’s throat, lining up the strike that would surely lop his head clean off. He waited. Holding his breath until the blade lifted up to be swung down.

This was all it took for both the knights to unanimously spring to action. The Warden swung out with the arm that wasn’t trapped under Cross, and latched onto the first thing he felt- a leg, he assumed- and yanked it towards him. There was a yelp from the man, and the sound of clattering steel, and a body falling into the snow with a dull thud. He shouted what could only be assumed to be a curse. 

Holden Cross on the other hand – being properly armed - pushed himself up to a kneeling position over his Warden, and swung his axe with one hand, knocking a row of unprepared archers to the ground before rising to his feet. The Warden could do nothing but take a sharp inhale of breath, as his crushed lungs were finally allowed to properly fill. Two breaths, and he let out a shout in their language- in truth, the only thing he knew in the Warborn’s tongue.  
“Þú ert dauður!” Poorly pronounced, and slurred, but empowering all the same.

Someone shouted back at him, as if he could understand. It was excited for whatever reason, but Daubeny decided to ignored it. Instead surveying the surroundings. Archers who weren’t prepared for close range, a Raider, and a Berserker- the latter now on the ground, clutching his stolen sword by the blade- it looked like it had cut the Warborn’s hand. The element of surprise had passed. Now the air was filled with the sounds of weapons clashing against steel armor, and the shaft of a poleaxe. Bodies hit the ground quickly, and the Warden couldn’t help but smile as he imagined his commander cutting down soldier after soldier with no effort. He longed to join him, but well… there was little an unarmed knight could do against trained, and well-equipped warriors. He would fix this.

In the blur of action, the Warden rose to a crouch, and launched himself towards the Berserker. Pinning him to the ground before he had a chance to get up, and get his abandoned second axe. He took the handle of his longsword from the stunned warrior, and yanked it out swiftly- surly severing the tendon connected to his foe’s thumb in the motion. Daubeny earned a scream, and a knee in the gut. That forced him to heave. He had hardly gotten a chance to catch his breath, and was already winded again.  
He wheezed into his helmet. Hot air filling his mask once more. On instinct he threw a punch at the Warborn’s face with a gauntleted fist, the crack the Berserker’s nose made was satisfying, but was quickly retaliated against. Daubeny had provided an opening, one that was used by the Berserker to swing his hand axe into his assailant’s side. The cold steel found a gap in the metal, and pierced straight through the Warden’s tabard. Cold metal bit into him harshly. 

He bit back a scream, and let it escape as a gasp instead. Liquid furry spread through him. The cold and adrenaline numbed the wound, and within seconds the Warden had swung his sword over his head in a wide arc, using the momentum to plunge the cross guard into the Berserker’s skull. The body went limp, and the snow started staining red - from multiple sources… Daubeny stumbled upwards, sword in one hand, while his other clenched the wound. It was bad. 

Quickly his attention shifted back to the battle. All the archers were dead. Dispatched with one wide swing from Cross’ poleaxe from the looks of it. Now his commander was fighting the Raider- the Warborn’s weapon like a cruel mockery of a poleaxe. He almost felt pity for its construction – a crude weapon for a crude wielder, but a threat nonetheless. The Warden rushed to his superior’s aid without hesitation, attacking the unexpecting warrior with one long horizontal arc. The man lost his balance- an opening long enough for the Lawbringer to swing his axe head into the Raider’s neck without resistance, nearly decapitating him entirely. The body collapsed onto the crimson snow, and both the warriors were silent. Panting, and gathering their composure. 

Daubeny curled inwards over his wounded side, while Cross began prodding bodies with the end of his axe, ensuring they were - in fact - dead. The Warden looked around in the wake of the chaos. Searching for possible reinforcements, or anything familiar. Alas, this place had no landmarks. Simply a flat plane of snow, decorated with trees, dense enough to block view of… well, anything really. Their footprints were a mess. Too many, surging in from too many directions, but they gave him a vague idea of where to go. He shivered. The sweat produced from his conflict was beginning to chill, bringing an unwelcome cold.

“Sorry for kicking you.” Daubeny apologized, beginning to follow the footprints. The Lawbringer followed, and began to say something, but hesitated. Watching his hunched over second in command. This statement earned no response. 

“You’re injured.” The Warden glanced over. Almost startled. The usually stoic voice bared… concern… Affection welled up in his chest at this. Holden was as physically unreadable as ever. His posture looked like he was ready for war, no matter what the situation was, but there were tells that became noticeable if you spent enough time around him. The most remarkable was that, his axe had been passed to one hand, and gently pointed at the ground. His free hand was held loose, rather than clenched into a tight fist as it usually was. It was genuine concern.

“I’ll be fine.” A blatant lie. He couldn’t show weakness, not in front of his commander. Though the lie was unfortunately obvious even without the way his voice cracked through it. The adrenaline was fading, and fading fast. His side was throbbing. Each pulse expelling more and more blood. His body retaliated against himself. Sickness rose up, threatening to spew over, but he swallowed it down. He collapsed down onto one knee. Cross was at his side in moments, crouched, and examining the wound for himself.  
It felt like an eternity. 

Daubeny’s head dipped forwards. Landing on the crouching Lawbringer’s shoulder. It stayed there. If Cross minded, he certainly didn’t say a damn thing. Not that Daubeny he would have cared, with the amount of pain his suddenly found himself in. “Leave me. Reinforcements will likely come soon, and I’ll weigh you down.” The helmet above him shook in a mix of denial, and disbelief, but mostly anger. “Absolutely not. You’re not dead yet- not anywhere close. We have time.” A gauntleted finger touched a little too close to the wound, and in reaction, Daubeny’s breath hitched. A gauntleted hand fell to smack it away. “I w-won’t be able to fight tomorrow anyways… It doesn’t matter.” 

There was the sound of ripping fabric, and suddenly a gentle pressure on his side that steadily grew. Cross had used one of his own capes as a bandage… Perhaps it would stop the bleeding enough for it to scab… Hm… A little bit of hope…

“But what about the following battles? Or your friends? Or me?” Daubeny felt shame. He was supposed to be ready to die for his cause. Right now all he could think of were the Warborn armies rallying to this position, while his commander wasted precious time that could be spent regrouping with the main army. Instead he was tending to a wound like a medic.

“You can find another second.” Daubeny retorted. 

“That’s not the point.” Cross’ raised voice left him in stunned silence.

After the bandage was tied to be almost painfully tight, Cross packed snow against it. The sudden cold made him shiver, but he couldn’t complain. Not with the way it numbed him. The Warden’s gloved hand was guided to the wound. “Cover that. Hold the snow there, and keep talking to me. Don’t fall asleep on me, got it?” His commander was as stern as a commander ought to be, despite the obvious concern. That affection returned. 

“I haven’t lost that much blood yet -“He was swiftly cut off by arms that wrapped around him. The Warden thought it was a hug. He lifted his helmet up in surprise, and canted his helm to try and look Cross in the eye- hoping he could interpret the meaning. One that quickly became clear as Daubeny was easily repositioned, and the commander stood up. The Warden was being carried- like a sack of potatoes, nonetheless! He let out a sigh. “I might not be in the best health, but I’m not a cripple...” Daubeny informed. He certainly didn’t mind being carried, yes. However, he imagined what a blow to his pride it would be if all of his men saw him return like this- injured, pathetic, and unable to take care of himself. 

“No, not risking that.” Daubeny sighed. “You’ve already lied to me twice today, I’m not risking that.” He couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. He let his chin rest against his commander’s shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

The pair had arrived at the camp when Daubeny was shaken awake. Still slung comfortably over the Lawbringer’s shoulder while his side ached dully. The Warden’s head lifted, blinking his eyes under his helmet as he quickly attempted to get his bearings. He was nauseas, but that passed quickly. Now he was just tired and achy, with a side that felt like it was on fire.  
Their army was in sight, exactly where they had been left. They had set up a camp in the time their commanders were away- tents dotted the forest clearing, illuminated by several campfires – one of which was emanating the mouthwatering scent of cooked meat. Soldiers darted back and forth, performing their duties for the night, even in the absence commanding officer to order it. Like a well oiled machine, weapons were being cleaned, armor polished and patched up, food was being prepared, and handed out. He felt pride swell up, and he made a mental note to thank whoever’s idea that was. 

“I said, I told you not to fall asleep.” His commander’s voice startled Daubeny. It was stern. That previous compassion gone entirely, replaced with what sounded like anger- again.  
The Warden felt his skin go hot with shame. Had he been standing in front of Cross, rather than thrown over his shoulder, the man likely would have turned away, and held his hands behind his back, but in his current position, he could do nothing. He wanted an excuse, but really he couldn’t remember the walk back- save for the order his commander was so upset about being disobeyed. 

“It wasn’t intentional, just-“ he was cut off. “Just what? Blood loss? That’s how people die, you know. They are weary after a fight. Feel exhausted, and just need to take a little rest to ease their pain. Then they don’t wake up.” Daubeny gritted his teeth in the absence of an argument. Holden Cross was right, once again. He wasn’t upset, just… ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could really say. Luckily conversation was forcibly cut off as they were noticed by their men.

“Halt! This is a Blackstone Legion camp, state your business, or be- wait- Commander, is that you?” The Swordsman who had been standing guard quickly trotted over. The word ‘commander’ passed through the camp like a ripple. Mutters carrying the message along until soon most of the camp were turned towards the pair, emerging from the woods. Chattering ensued. The conversations overlapped too much to be properly heard, but it didn’t take much curiosity to imagine the subject: The commander returning, with his second passed out in his arms. Daubeny could imagine the gossip that would ensue among the conscripts. All that would likely destroy his reputation within the legion. 

“Please put me down.” Daubeny requested in a whisper. His face felt like it was burning. He could only imagine the shade of red it was- he was thankful for the fact the helmet hid it from his men. Cross obeyed, setting him onto the ground carefully. A hand lingered on the Warden’s shoulder, and with good reason. The second the knight was set down, two things hit him. A stab of pain emanating from his flank, and a dull tingling from his legs. Mostly, the lack of blood running through them. Without feeling in them, they felt like gelatin. He would have collapsed face first into the snow had it not been for Cross’ hand. Reluctantly He let some of his weight be lifted by that said hand. 

Daubeny moved his gauntlet to his hip. He held back a hiss at the sudden pressure over his wound as the hand pressed against the bandage. He forced himself into a respectful, straighter posture. 

“Report: what happened while we were away.” Daubeny ordered, as if he had any dignity left so to speak. The guard visibly glanced between the two of them before clearing his throat with a heavy grunt. 

“Right, well, a couple minutes after you left, we were attacked by a Viking hunting party. They were small, and we won thanks to numbers. We lost one soldier, and four were left injured. Afterwards, one of the Conquerors decided to start setting up camp, so we uh… we did.” Daubeny glanced up to the Lawbringer, silently asking for input, but was simply answered with a slow shake of the head. 

“Right then. Sounds like a successful battle. Tell the conqueror who prompted this to meet me in the war tent at dawn, I would like to thank him personally. Have hunting parties sent out to gather food, and supplement the rest with rations. Good work.” He cast his gaze out over the camp one last time. Searching for the medical tent, only to scowl when he remembered their Warlord’s decision to only send one healer with them. Who probably was already occupied with the aforementioned injured. He could probably get his treatment pushed up, with his rank. However he could only imagine having to share the wounded tent with others, while he pushed them aside...

He opened his mouth one last time to utter praise, only to be cut off by Cross, who tightly squeezed his shoulder as he spoke. “That will be all, you are dismissed. Take my second to his tent. He will probably have trouble walking with his… condition.” With that Daubeny was released. Though it was short lived. Instantly the swordsman moved under his arm to support him while he walked. The Lawbringer departed, heading down towards the fire. To eat most likely, while the Warden was supposed to what? Sleep? The hypocrisy of it made him bitter. 

“Right this way, big guy.” Daubney wanted to shove the guard away, but the second he took a step, he was reminded of the lack of feeling in his feet- or rather, he nearly fell, and remembered he had been suspended with circulation cut off for… how long..? The guard kept him upright, while the Warden’s mind drifted to frost bite. Imagining his feet blackened and withered like the stories went. 

“You really took a beating out there, didn’t’ya?” For not the first, or last time today, he felt bitterness. He was tempted to reply with a sour insult, but knew it would get him utterly nowhere. Distantly Daubeny wondered if this was supposed to be a punishment, or was in fact unintentional.  
Be nice. “Unfortunately, yes. We were ambushed, walked right into a Viking trap. There were 14 of them, I ended up disarmed in the heat of it all, and got hit in the side with an axe before I could retrieve my sword.” The Warden explained, naturally glossing over the details. Some simply shouldn’t be let into the conscripts’ circles. It would be severely blown out of proportion- hell, it would likely be twisted into something disgusting – as they were known to do. ‘Why yes, we went out into the forest, and the commander laid on top of me!’. He didn’t give any hint to his embarrassment as he was guided to his tent.

“We thought you guys were dead! I mean, after the first hour-“ wait what? “An hour? We were gone for over an hour?” 

“Uhh… I think it was an hour and a half, yeah.” It would explain why he felt so exhausted. He shook his head, and let the silence reign for the rest of their walk - which happened far too slow for his liking. His usual pace was cut in half by cold feet that couldn’t move the way he wanted, and a pained side that complained whenever his hips moved even slightly out of an acceptable range. Feeling was returning to his legs, but it was a slow process. Such slowness gave him more time to examine his surroundings. Namely the soldiers, with their oh-so curious stares.

He ignored the glances he got, and avoided looking at any of the troops. Instead deciding to simply stare at the ground ahead of them until the two finally got to the commander’s tents. The two largest in the entire camp, naturally. Daubeny dismissed the guard quickly. Eager to lay down. However such things were of course too easy. More roadblocks would obviously be required, Daubeny mused internally as he watched another soldier to trot up- another briefing was the last thing he wanted right now. Currently his mind was set on ordering the healer to his tent, to be tended to in the comfort of his own bedroll. Eating his rations, and stripping out of his heavy armor were up there as well.

“Sir Holden Cross wanted me to relay a message.” Daubeny nodded impatiently. “He is ordering you to lay down and wait. Someone will be with you shortly to deliver food and medical attention. Also said not to fall asleep.” For once, orders aligned with his own intentions, and he couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. “Right, thank you. You are dismissed.” The Warden waited for the messenger to turn on his heel, before Daubeny parted the cloth door, and ducked into his tent.

It was large for a tent that was supposedly portable, small for the living quarters he was accustomed to. A desk, with a chair for reports, a rack for arms and armor, so they didn’t rest on the floor like a common soldiers’- and a bedroll. The latter of which he immediately settled onto. Armor, sword and all. Removing it all now sounded like a herculean task, despite having just fantasized about it mere moments ago. Between how cold, and tired he was, it was simply an outlandish thought- he was not going to risk losing body heat with the weather outside! Removing the armor could wait- It could be the medic’s job later for all he cared. 

He was comfortable. The tent retained heat better than outside- subtly though. The cold gusts of wind couldn’t penetrate it’s cloth hide, leaving him marginally happier. He debated getting up to sit beside a fire, but between facing his men, and the way his side complained when he shifted, he was torn… comfort, or warmth… tough choice…  
Daubeny’s decision was made for him when suddenly an icy draft found its way in. Quickly he decided the tent was awful, and a tad overrated. It had instantly lost all of its appeal, but before he could get up – let alone sit up, he found his decision swatted down as the source of the draft became apparent: one Holden Cross, standing in the door of his second’s tent, holding a plate of food, and a medical kit. He was still fully armored, and still bore a bloodstained shoulder… Though, in his defense, Daubeny was no better… still he found the idea of a heavily armored man, clumsily dotting to him with clunky metal covered hands oddly endearing. He smiled under his helmet, only to have it turn to a frown when he realized this was just another opportunity for Cross to yell at him. 

“I take it the medic is too busy for me? I can’t imagine any other reason-“ Daubeny found himself cut off with a look that was menacing, and piercing even with the helmet in the way. To say he was intimidated would have been a bit of an understatement.  
After ample silence, the Lawbringer finally spoke up. “I’m here because I wanted to attend to you personally, as well as follow through on your request- assuming the offer still stands.” Daubeny wanted to curse himself for having forgotten, and coming across as so unwelcoming, but found himself caught up in the other part of the statement.  
“Of course, it still stands! You’re welcome anytime but… why personally...?” The statement was met with another glare, one that was cut short by Cross’ attention being drawn downwards to the small box of medicine in his hands. He was trying to pry open the metal box open, ignoring the clasp that held it shut. It was a tension lock, one that could be easily undone with nimble fingers. At the moment, Cross seemed not to care. He gave a short grunt as his forced it open. Daubeny heard the familiar sound of metal breaking. He winced, and silently mourned the small box, however decided not to press the issue, or draw any attention to it- a good instinct as it turned out.

“Why personally? To ask about what that… act in the forest was.” With the kit now open, he walked over. Kneeling over Daubeny, and pushing him down to the floor with one heavy hand- one that could crush him with relative ease. Daubeny resisted for the briefest of moments in mild alarm before succumbing, pushing aside his irrational fear, and letting himself be attended to. “Trying to get me to abandon my second? Do you have a death wish? You can’t just ask for a friend to kill you like that…” It was a rare glimpse of genuine emotion from the Lawbringer- usually stoic, and reserved… It prompted a type guilt he was unable to put his finger on. 

“I’m… sorry. I was paranoid, I feared more Vikings could be on the way, and I felt your life was more important than mine.” Cross nodded. Daubeny flinched as he felt cold gauntlets dig into his sides. Fight or flight reflex kicked in and he tried to sit up, only to find himself easily pushed back down without comment. Experienced fingers undid various straps, and removed sparse plating, until he was left in nothing but his now ruined undershirt, and his pants. The latter of which was easily pushed up to expose the wound.  
There it was, a diagonal line that hugged the curve of his hip closely, disappearing under his waist line. Inches closer, and Daubeny would have likely found himself with a shattered pelvis on his hands. The slice was messy with dried blood. Its flow seemed to have slowed considerably since when it had been inflicted. good thing too. Otherwise would have meant a broken artery- a lot more blood. Death even – probably… Medicine wasn’t his area of expertise, and he was hardly a Peacekeeper who had to worry about swift, precise killing. He simply had his fear, and a vague understanding.

Cross gave an appraising grunt. Hand ghosting over the sensitive reddened flesh. His gaze shifting downwards, eyes following the arc of torn fabric, and damaged leather that obscured the rest of the jagged slice. His hand followed, hooking under the fabric of his trousers when it reached there. Daubeny gave a started yelp of “Hey!” When Cross reached to pull down his pants without as much as a warning. Several things darted through his mind. One: the fact that he absolutely would have preferred the healer to be doing this part. They would at least be used to this. Two: the realization that those gentle touches had done something to excite him- even without having intentionally interpreted it like that. Three: He absolutely didn’t want his commander to see the product of that. Reflexively, Daubeny’s hand shot downwards, grapping Cross’ hand by the wrist.  
“Do you want me to help you or not?” Came the annoyed reply from Cross. The tone as if it required genuine restraint to keep it from coming out as a snarl. Both of them were still, but that stillness was a product of tension, thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Daubeny stammered for a moment. “Yes- no… later? Can we get the healer to do it?” That helmeted head tilted in obvious confusion. Gears visibly turning in that head of his before he came to a reasonable conclusion.  
“I need to get to the wound Daubeny. I have no intent to use this as an excuse to…” a pause, he gestured towards his Warden’s crotch in a blunt gesture. “… if that’s what you’re worried about.” It was a good guess, but not quite the problem at hand. Anxiety stemmed from somewhere different. Still, Daubeny nodded. Trying to ignore the utterly inappropriate pressure, and tightening of his trousers, barely concealed by the banners that hung from his waist. Cross continued carefully. Seeming to wait for the moment his second jumped to stop him, as he began undoing the clasp of the Warden’s belt, before pulling the loosened waist line down. Just along the one side, exposing nothing more than the damaged flesh. 

Daubeny decided to spend this time simply staring at the cloth ceiling of his tent. Willing this situation away, only to find his utterly uncooperative mind running wild. He recalled how Holden had laid atop him. Crushing him, yes, but the proximity tantalizing. The memory idealized the situation. The weight comfortable, their helmets pressed together, filled with hot, needy breath. He imagined Cross planting one hand on either side of his head, and pushing himself up, their hips still pressed against each other. Daubeny would run a hand along Cross’ heavily armored sides. A hand reaching up to follow to ridges of his helmet’s embossing- Then it stopped. What next? The fantasy began falling apart, only to be destroyed as alcohol was poured onto the wound. A startled shout escaped him, and the thoughts were gone. Replaced by pain- he was oddly thankful for being so abruptly shaken from that. Cross grunted a short apology, and things continued on. Daubeny did his best to pretend it had never happened.

His arousal faded somewhat, and remained that way as the Lawbringer continued to attend to him, washing away the dried blood, before he began stitching it closed with a needle and thread. Daubeny was curious of how he managed to do something that required such nimble fingers, while wearing gauntlets, but the sharp stinging as the needle broke through skin every time was enough to remind Daubeny not to distract him at all. He tilted his helmet downwards. Watching as the knight worked, despite how upsetting it was to look at that horrible jagged cut. The swift movement of his fingers, and the way the needle dipped in and out was mesmerizing. Soon enough, Cross drew away. Kneeling, and observing the stitching with a careful eye, before his gaze lifted. Helmet fixed on Daubeny, and unreadable. The warden felt anxiety well up for a moment.  
“Don’t touch your stitches. I’m only doing this once.” Came the warning. Daubeny nodded quickly, swallowing down a lump in his throat. Cross stood up slowly. Picking the broken box up off the ground with a sigh as he rose. 

“Also, unless you intend on embarrassing yourself further in font of your men, I suggest you take care of yourself before you head out.” A pause. “I’m assuming its from the pain.” Daubeny’s gauntleted hand shot to his face, covering it in embarrassment. God… he had hopped it wasn’t noticeable. That perhaps his leathers were merciful enough to cover it. But no, a glance down through his fingers- previously obscured by Cross’ elbow, there it was. Bared for the world to see! His length pressed against his banners tenting them slightly. More than enough for it to be recognized. 

“Unfortunately no…” Daubeny stated, shame hitting him in waves as he admitted to his perversion.  
“Oh.”

The tent fell silent for a minute, but it may has well have been an eternity. The low rumble of conversation outside, the wind blowing, and little else. Cross simply stood there. Halfway to the door, staring at his second. Daubeny turned inwards, imagining Cross was thinking about punishment. Perhaps he would be booted from his position. Demoted back to foot soldier out if disgust. Maybe Cross would pretend none of this had happened- though Daubeny knew that a commander of the Blackstone Legion would never be that kind… Holden Cross finally seemed to make his decision. Placing his medical kit on the ground once more, and resuming his position, kneeled alongside Daubeny.  
“I put you in this situation didn’t I? Well-”  
“Sir-“  
“Quiet.” The order came harsh. “Don’t tell anyone about this. The last thing we need are people thinking you’re close to me.” Daubeny’s chest was thundering. He imagined Cross thought he was being merciful, but dear god was it the opposite. Still, Daubeny didn’t resist. His lust blinding him enough to simply give a silent nod. 

Cross’ gauntleted hand ran over the bulge in his standards’ fabric, earning a soft gasp. That of which dissolved into a groan as the gentle brush turned into a tight grip. Instantly the remaining hand shot to Daubeny’s mouth. Clearly in attempt to silence any further noises. The warden blinked in suprise, the gesture lost atop his helmet. Quickly Cross seemed to recognize his error. The knight corrected himself, the grip trailing down to latch onto the Warden’s throat. That was all it took for his cock to find itseld standing at further attention. For a second, nothing happened as his commander worked at pulling Daubeny’s leathers down to release his length. All the while, he squeezed the man’s throat. The warden was reduced panting quietly as he struggled with both breath, and arousal. God... That was tight.

“S-sir-“ Daubeny forced out quietly in a pleading tone, mere moments before that gauntleted fist wrapped around his length once more. The cloth gloved palm was warm. It was smooth, but not without its roughness. The pressure was tantalizing. Daubeny found his own hands balling into fists around the blanket of his bedroll.  
“Sir please-“

“I said quiet.” Cross barely looked up from his work. Hand sliding up and down quickly. The gauntlet hurt a little. The rough texture dragging, and the metal occassionslly clipped him, but even with that, Daubeny wanted to beg for more. Still, darkness was creeping around the edges of his vision. His lungs ached, and his head was rushing with adrenaline.  
“I can’t breath!” Cross finally looked up, hand that was preoccupied with Daubeny’s straining cock not stopping its pace in the slightest. His grip on the Warden’s throat loosened, and in turn, Daubeny greedily inhaled and exhaled. Filling his lungs as much as he could, until the hand clenched down once more. He was given no respite. The opposite in fact. The choking was harder than before, and the change in speed was enough to bring Daubeny to start thrusting his hips, forcing his length further into Cross’ hand. It'd been too long, he wouldn't last...

He was already worked up to the brink. All of this happening embarrassingly fast. He imagined Cross sinking into him. His thick cock buried in his ass, thrusting hard enough for him to loose feeling in his legs entirely. He imagined his length rubbing against the Lawbringer's chest plate, smearing the previously shiny metal with his come. Both hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing tightly enough to nearly make him pass out... He could imagine Cross growing at him, voice heavy with arousal. Ordering him around, and talking dirty enough to make a conscript blush like a young maiden.

After that, it only took a moment. Ending as swiftly as it began. With a quiet, stifled moan, Daubeny came into his superior’s hand. White fluid spilling onto the metal. With that it was over. His throat was abandoned, his cock was given one or two more pumps, before the hand slipped away in favor of being cleaned off. Daubeny was left, half naked on his bedroll, head dizzy with a cocktail of oxygen deprivation, and the rush of having come. His helmet was steamy to say the least. The hot air suffocating him, but he didn’t move. His gaze simply locked onto his commander, who was busy wiping the previously pristine metal down with a wet cloth as if nothing had happened.


End file.
